


Akhet

by PaapakaWalk



Category: The Prince of Egypt (1998)
Genre: Ancient Egyptian Deities, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Gen, One-Shot, also I list Moses but he is a baby here, brief descriptions of violence, but wow I love this movie, so I'm not sure if he... counts yet, this is much more serious than my usual work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaapakaWalk/pseuds/PaapakaWalk
Summary: The annual flooding of the Nile is a time of new life.This year is different.or: Yhwh had a little help saving Moses.





	Akhet

**Author's Note:**

> Akhet: Egyptian term for the flooding of the Nile  
> Iteru: Egyptian name for the Nile  
> Kmt: Kemet, the Ancient Egyptian name for Egypt  
> Yhwh, El, Elohim: the God of the Hebrews

Hapi feels the blood in the river before he sees it.

First there is the usual rush as Iteru swells, water mingling with earth, Hapi’s exuberant touch meeting the quivering heat of Geb. He has waited all year to perform Akhet, and his time is finally here. His two halves sweep down the golden banks of Iteru, his touch making the once-dry sands burst with hints of new growth.

As he adjusts to the hum of the flood, the more subtle activity of the river streams into his belly: a gentle brush of cool as an eel slides past, a bright, quick spark as a heron spears a carp, a whisper of feathers from a waterbird paddling with the current. Hapi, Lord of the River Bringing Vegetation, shimmers with pride, basking in the richness of the life around him.

But then there is something else, a reeking cloud of blood which winds around his wrists and worms its way up his breasts and into his nostrils. This does not feel like the death of the carp: there is too much blood, far too much to belong to even one dying crocodile, or one hundred. Hapi moves faster, hoping to escape the stench, but instead it wraps around him tighter, more insistently, writhes in his wake and curdles the glow of Akhet.

There is a brief cry, the smallest splash.

Hapi finally opens his eyes.

He is surrounded by children. Not his children, the fish and birds of Iteru: these are human infants, thousands of them. Some float on the surface of his water, some sink into dark shadows. A few thrash feebly, but most are already dead –– tiny bodies glistening with blood, mangled from soldiers’ spears and the teeth of Sobek’s children. They coat his flood like a curse: a mat of strange insects, brown skin and black hair and pink gums and red innards spilling out. The two halves of Hapi, Lord of the Fish and Birds of the Marshes, god of fertility, choke in unison. He wrenches his gaze away, shuts his eyes once more, but still the stench burns his heart. Akhet is no longer gentle and smooth. Iteru tears at its bank, and the screams of men vaguely inform him a few of the soldiers have joined the children, ripped from their feet by the surging water. He moves faster, faster, tugging his floodwaters behind him until the world is a blur of red, bright even through the veil of his eyelids. 

And then –– a heartbeat. This is not the slow march of a crocodile’s hearts. No –– this heart thrums steadily, too soft and quick to belong to a grown man yet too slow to be the lightning flutter of the little fish which abound in these waters. It beats from the very center of Iteru, a golden pulse which rises and dips with the force of the river; and for the second time, Hapi’s eyes fly open. There is no moment of decision, no hesitation as he moves toward the reed basket bobbing furiously on his waters and encircles it within his arms. The basket stills as a ripple of deep blue calm spreads around his embrace, and the heart within calms with it.

The floodwaters recede as the light returns to Akhet. Hapi curves past the crocodiles and hippopotami, filled with a new purpose. Red gives way to blue, Iteru stills, and Hapi floats toward the mouth of the sweet oasis which laps against the white steps of Kmt’s royal abode. Yet, when he is scarcely a finger’s breadth away, something bright and unfamiliar curls around his four calves. He struggles, but the bonds stay firm, growing unbearably hot against his legs.

_STOP._

The voice which rumbles up from the depths of Iteru is like nothing he has ever heard. A thousand whispering souls speak in unison: some weeping, some laughing, some charged with fury. Hapi does not scare easily, but there is something so uncanny about the sound that he finds himself very nearly speechless. _Who are you to stop the divine flood?_ he asks at last, keeping his own tone neutral.

The water shifts and trembles, and the white-hot ties around his legs loosen by a fraction. _YOU MAY CALL ME YHWH,_ the voice replies. _I AM THAT I AM._

_Are you… a god as well?_ Hapi asks cautiously.

_I AM NO MERE DEITY OF A PANTHEON. I AM THE ONE GOD OF THE HEBREWS, AND I HAVE SEEN THE SUFFERING OF MY PEOPLE. I HAVE BORNE WITNESS TO THE MANY LIVES CUT SHORT ON THIS DAY._

The God of the Flood bows his head. _I, too._

Silence reigns, save for the child’s heart, until Yhwh breaks it with a voice like a city sighing. _THIS BASKET WAS WOVEN BY THE HANDS OF MY PEOPLE. THIS CHILD IS OF HEBREW BLOOD. AND YET YOU CRADLE HIM TO YOUR BREASTS AS IF HE WERE ONE OF YOUR OWN._

Hapi bridles. _I am a bringer of life. The soil springs fertile under my touch, and with it blossom the wombs of women –– Kmt and Hebrew alike._

Time flows for the span of a single breath, and then the tendrils of light melt from Hapi’s legs. _THE CHILD SHALL LIVE IN THE MEMORY OF THE NILE, LONG PAST THE CRUMBLING OF HIS MORTAL BODY, FOR HE IS DESTINED TO WORK MY WONDERS. HE SHALL FREE MY PEOPLE FROM YOURS, AND THE MEN AND WOMEN OF KMT SHALL PAY DEARLY FOR THEIR SINS. THUS SAITH THE LORD EL._

The reek of spilt Hebrew blood lingers in Hapi’s nostrils as he replies: _So be it_.

A murmur in the lilting language of the people of Elohim; a starburst of light; and Hapi once more finds himself alone with the child. His arms part and the basket floats out, gliding along the clear water. There is a brief pause, a cry of human surprise, before the child’s heartbeat abruptly disappears from his earshot. For a single eye’s blink Hapi stills in worry –– but then the drumming is replaced by an infant’s cries and the gentle voices of women, and the worry falls away like silt settling into the riverbed.

He spins and the current spins with him, tracing the form of a lotus into the surface of the Nile. Hapi races back toward the carnage, the cleansing force of his floodwaters trailing behind him. His touch meets that of Geb––

And there is life again.


End file.
